


A Secret Far Bigger Than Two Lips Could Accommodate

by Aikori_Ichijouji, AkisMusicBox



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Botany, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Neither Jaskier nor Yen have the guts to tell him, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Oblivious Jaskier | Dandelion, Swearing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aikori_Ichijouji/pseuds/Aikori_Ichijouji, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkisMusicBox/pseuds/AkisMusicBox
Summary: It’s midday, not too far south of the main road to Cintra, when Jaskier pulls Yen to the side as Geralt is drinking from a stream. "So, uh, as the trained mage amongst this little trio, I'm going to defer to you to explain to Geralt what's going on."Yennefer looks at him in amusement. "You know what this affliction is?""Of course!" Jaskier sounds almost offended. "A disease caused by romantic affection, or more specifically, the lack thereof? Ma'am, I am a bard and we cut our teeth on this kind of poetry existing in real life. Anyone who can play a chord knows about Hanahaki."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 21
Kudos: 303





	A Secret Far Bigger Than Two Lips Could Accommodate

It’s midday, not too far south of the main road to Cintra, when Jaskier pulls Yen to the side as Geralt is drinking from a stream. "So, uh, as the trained mage amongst this little trio, I'm going to defer to you to explain to Geralt what's going on."

Yennefer looks at him in amusement. "You know what this affliction is?"

"Of course!" Jaskier sounds almost offended. "A disease caused by romantic affection, or more specifically, the lack thereof? Ma'am, I am a bard and we cut our teeth on this kind of poetry existing in real life. Anyone who can play a chord knows about Hanahaki."

"I've half a mind not to," she muses, watching Geralt violently spit a mouthful of petals into the water. "Do you really think he'd believe me?"

Jaskier considers this for a moment and follows her gaze to see the Witcher washing his face in the stream. Why wouldn't he believe Yennefer? She'd be the most knowledgeable source. Then again, they seemed to have some strange prearrangement where the two would never see eye to eye and would forever be locked in a constant state of disagreement.

She made a compelling argument.

"It'd be even less likely was it to come from me," he points out.

Yennefer hums and pushes a lock of hair out her face. "Perhaps neither of us says anything then."

Jaskier balks. "Yen, this could quite possibly kill him," he hisses.

But she just hums again and shrugs.

"Honestly I'm surprised he's even affected by it at all. Witchers aren't supposed to feel." She picks a twig from where it's caught in her cloak. "I can't deny a small amount of professional curiosity in this anomaly."

Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, but his own professional curiosity creeps upon him. "Well — well I suppose you have a point. The sheer concept, the idea that a being who is supposed to be nothing more than a monster-slayer succumbing to romance..." He balls a hand into a fist and presses it to his mouth. "No, no, nooo — okay, okay. Okay." He holds his hands up. "How about this? We know the cause and we... I mean, you know how to cure it. I know a couple of possible cures but between you and me, cures in songs aren't exactly instructions, more emotional truths. Regardless, we can point him in the right direction to cure himself."

Yennefer taps her chin with the twig. "That's not a stupid idea, admittedly. If the cure works, then we can tell him the diagnosis with certainty. If it doesn't, then I have a whole new affliction to investigate with an impressive specimen to autopsy."

"Can we just agree, right now, that we're not going to let him die?" Jaskier asks, panicked. Geralt is wiping his mouth on his sleeve. They need to wrap this up quickly.

Yennefer rolls her eyes. "Agreed."

That did give Jaskier a bit of solace. Jaskier had seen Geralt a week prior and he had been in fine health, if not a couple of ales in. And Geralt had been on the way to see Yennefer, so if she had any ill-intent toward him, she’d have just ignored his plea. "Perfect! Now, just to be absolutely clear, is it that who he loves doesn't love him back, factually, or just that he believes his love is not reciprocated? Because those are two totally different categories of songs altogether. The cures have to be very different as well."

"As far as I know, it varies by the case as it's dependent on the circumstances. If the feelings are truly unrequited, there's little left but to either remove the source of the growth... or remove the person in question."

Jaskier winces at this. They probably shouldn't mention that last one to Geralt. It's common knowledge between the two of them that Geralt fixed problems in one of two ways; magic or beating something to death. And, sometimes, a combination of both.

"If it's only a perception of unrequited love, then you have a few more options. But love potions are still finicky at best," she finishes.

"And we don't know which it is in his case," Jaskier frowns.

Yennefer huffs and looks away from Geralt, who started to make his way over to them.

"Do you think he'd be in this predicament at all if he was that self-aware?" she whispers.

Jaskier wants to laugh but refrains out of guilt. Instead, he lifts his chin at their approaching companion.

"All right, Geralt?"

"I will be once we're in town and I can find both decent rest at an inn as well as a healer." Geralt replies, his voice raspier than normal, something that disquiets Jaskier's keenly attuned ears. "You haven't seen anything like this, have you Yennefer?"

Yennefer feigns nonchalance with all the grace afforded by her training. "Can't say I have for certain since there are always many possible diagnoses. I don't want to steer you down the wrong path."

Geralt fixes her with a flat, scrutinizing stare at but she doesn't flinch so much as an eyelash.

"Hmm."

Jaskier bites back a swear. While the words are that of a cautious physician, they aren't like Yennefer at all. If she keeps this up, her and Geralt would be back to circling each other in no time, which would be nothing but a distraction. Jaskier is almost certain that Yennefer wasn't the cause of this.

Hopelessness. Despair. A piece of yourself being invisible to the world. Fear of being pushed away if the truth were known. Inferiority to the ideal. These can all be key elements of any good ballad about Hanahaki. For all the mess that their relationship is, Yennefer and Geralt could never be unseen to one another. It is as if they were hyper-aware of each other. The world collapses to just the two of them when they are in one of their rows. As thick as Geralt can be about his effect on the people around him, it just wasn't possible that he felt the right amount of despondence about his situation with Yennefer that this malady required.

Jaskier hates how happy that fact made him. _One woman down, the rest of the world to go, I suppose._

"A curse, perhaps?" Jaskier offers as Geralt mounts Roach. "Flower petals seem a bit symbolic, you know? A bit on the nose if someone's trying to send you a message if you ask me."

"Luckily I didn't," Geralt says as he gives Roach one last pat before urging him on. Dry, as usual, but his voice grates in a way that twists Jaskier's stomach. Typically, Jaskier would request a seat on Roach as well, citing his non-magically enhanced form needing to retain all of the strength it could to play for their suppers when they arrived at the inn, but this time, he can't bring himself to ask. Roach's strength is more important.

Geralt's quiet for a while before he looks to Yennefer once again. "Elven magic?"

"Which elves did you piss off most recently?" Yennefer asks.

“Fuck,” Geralt says, the word more growl than speech, forced between clenched jaws. His chest seizes. He turns his head and spits.

Jaskier begins to hum, lyrics of longing tightening inside him. His pace slows to match the three-quarter time of the new song.

Yennefer laughs. “Or perhaps there is one more annoying than the rest?”

Jaskier steps forward, arm outstretched in warning. She’s too close to giving it away. Her wrist snaps back. Jaskier falls in beside Roach, silent.

Geralt’s face is tight. “They’re all annoying bastards.” A petal clings to Roach’s haunch. Jaskier steps forward and plucks it off.

It's a deep, red-violet. Wide bodied with a point at one end. It looks familiar, something he's seen growing along the countryside. Still, he can't quite remember the name.

Yennefer and Geralt are two paces ahead of him, still bickering back and forth about elves. No surprise there at all. Geralt has taciturn respect for most races, something that almost always comes across as rudeness. No surprise there either. Geralt would be crowned the winner if unintentional rudeness was an actual sport.

He doesn't notice when the two of them stop and nearly tumbles face-first into Roach's hindquarters.

"Fucking hell—" The exclamation is choked off as the name he was trying to remember rushes to his lips. "Hellebore!"

He holds up the petal in his fingers and points to it so vigorously, the lute strapped to his back twangs in protest.

"You've coughed up a hellebore petal."

The other two frown simultaneously. Truthfully, Geralt has been frowning the entire time so there wasn't much of a change in his expression save for lines on his face deepening. Yennefer's is more thoughtful and Jaskier would swear he sees her eyes widen just a bit before she composes herself. Her lips tilt up on one side and she gives Geralt a sidelong glance.

"Are your potions, somehow, spontaneously deconstructing themselves in your stomach?" she asks, amused. "First I've ever heard of that happening."

Jaskier is able to pull the name from some well-known and well-worn songs but in what types of potions they were used for he can't recall immediately. His mind jumps to a reel featuring the line 'Hellebore, the star-shaped whore' that he was confident wouldn't help. "Perhaps a merchant gave you some bad ingredients for one of your augmentation potions?"

"Oh, it's not used for that," Yennefer says with a smirk. Geralt scowls at her.

_Not helping, Yennefer._ "It's on the tip of my tongue, I've heard about the uses before..." He tries to pick up the threads of a long-forgotten song. "Sulfur and hemlock, the grief they have brought, the hellebore and belladonna will make you a gonnaaa— ah!" He reaches over and yanks on Geralt's arm. "Geralt, Geralt, it's poison!" Then, he releases him and clasps the very same hand over his mouth.

_Now he might think that the person he loves may have poisoned him! Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

"I haven't been poisoned," Geralt says, rubbing his throat.

"That he has not," Yennefer says. "Hellebore is also used in cures for insomnia."

"Again?" Jaskier gasps, relief trickling through him. "Well, I suppose it's good that you're at least not djinn-hunting again. But, clearly, this remedy does not sit well with you."

Geralt cleared his throat. "That's why I need a different remedy from a different healer. And a proper bed."

"Or," Jaskier says, wide-eyed, "We can eliminate the need for medical intervention and dig deep into why you can't sleep. Get down to the real reason you're restless."

And who is the reason behind it.

Their path leading to the town would be marked by a trail of petals, but Jaskier does his best to either cover them with dirt or kick them into the grass. Yennefer, on the other hand, is collecting them in a small pouch. He glares at her when they have a bit of distance from the Witcher.

"What?" she asks, innocently. "I'm not letting perfectly good ingredients go to waste."

"They grew inside someone's lungs. A Witcher's lungs," he hisses back at her. "Wouldn't that, I don't know, change them somehow?"

Yennefer laughs at him. It's patronizing and he hates it. "You silly bard. That's exactly why I've kept them."

Jaskier's eyes go round and wide like saucers. She never let a moment pass to prove she was clever, that one. It always came with the feeling of self-admonishment that you'd missed the obvious. He looks behind him at his weak attempts to clear the petals away and sighs.

"Is there a way you can use them to narrow down our options as to who has made off with our dear Witcher's heart like a thief in the night?" he asks, finally.

Yennefer only smiles at him, small and knowing like it holds a secret far bigger than two lips could accommodate.

"Something like that."

When they arrive, Jaskier is no closer to fishing out the answer. A farmer points them in the direction of a tavern as well as the local healer, Pema. When Jaskier suggests that they visit the healer first, Geralt doesn't argue, nor even risk voicing his approval. He only nods.

Pema's home was modest, but the rack of drying herbs in front of it gave Jaskier some hope that she'd know a thing or two about hellebore... and be a bit more forthcoming about that knowledge than Yennefer.

A stocky, ruddy-faced woman studies them as they approach, but the wrinkle between her eyes dissipates when she takes in Geralt. "You look unwell, Witcher," she says.

"I've felt better." It's an attempt at downplaying his condition and it fails because he coughs at the tail end. Roach's mane is coated in petals.

"Bring him in," Pema says, opening her front door and slipping inside. When Geralt dismounts, Yennefer takes Roach to the hitching post. Jaskier follows Geralt inside, keeping a steadying hand on his back. It's not like Jaskier could keep the mountain of a man from falling, but at least it'd be some sort of cushion.

There's a bed in the middle of the main room that Pema directs them to. "How long has he been like this?" Pema asks as she sorts through bottles on the back table.

"I-I don't know," Jaskier says because when they met on the road yesterday evening, he had been testy, but not like this.

"Difficulty breathing for a week," Geralt manages. "A petal here and there for a few days." Jaskier’s stomach plummets.

"And the bouquets today?" Pema asks. Geralt nods.

"Lucky you were nearby then," she says, pouring the contents of two bottles into a bowl and swirling them together. She offers it to him. "I need you to be able to talk. This will coat your throat for the time being."

Geralt drinks the concoction greedily. Once it's gone, he says, "I just need a new sleeping draught. The hellebore in the one I'm using is reacting badly."

Pema shakes her head. "Not until you get the rest of it out." This time, she grabs a wooden bucket and bottle with a thick, pink liquid. She offers them both and he takes them without question. Jaskier watches, confused as Geralt uncaps the bottle, takes the smallest drink, and then retches into the bucket. Yennefer slips inside as not only petals, but stems and leaves fill the bucket as well.

Jaskier whimpers sympathetically while Geralt's chest heaves until nothing comes up but thin strands of mucus. The large, and usually quite intimidating, man now looks as frail as the thinnest gossamer. He shudders, gripping the sides of the bucket as tight as he can with trembling hands.

Pema takes the bucket from him once she decides he's finished. Jaskier is both sickened and impressed with the healer's ability to plunge her hand into the contents of it. She pulls out a couple of whole blossoms, coated in shards of leaf and petal.

"Hellebore, is it?" She examines the flowers. "Tell me, Witcher, in whose company were you last before your symptoms manifested?"

Geralt feebly shakes his head. "I've been alone for most of the past fortnight and a half. Monster hunting mostly in small towns."

He coughs once but, to Jaskier's relief, nothing seems to come up. Pema just nods, taking in his words.

"And the last town you were in, approximately one week ago, was there anything or anyone different about it?"

Jaskier sees the furrow of confusion in Geralt's brow before it even appears. He had to give the healer credit for giving the man a thorough investigation. She was expertly sidestepping the obvious while trying to lead him to the right answer. However, Geralt just shakes his head once more.

"Same as most other small towns." His voice has all the smoothness of sand. "I suppose the tavern was a bit nicer. Decent ale and—" his gaze flits over to meet Jaskier's "a marginally decent bard."

Jaskier tries for an indignant scoff but the heat in his cheeks, combined with his mounting worry, reshapes it into an uneasy laugh.

Pema turns to Jaskier. "What happened at the tavern, boy?"

Jaskier looks to Yennefer, pleading. Yennefer merely pretends to lock her lips with a key. "Well, I was playing at a tavern, like all bards do and it just so happens that Geralt was there. I performed, quite well if I do say so myself, and afterward I went and sat with Geralt so he could benefit from the complimentary drinks that content tavern-goers often offer. Perfectly cordial, or as cordial as that one gets." He gestures to Geralt.

"And then, Jaskier?" Yennefer prods.

Jaskier's throat felt tight under hers and Pema's staring. "And then? And then a young noblewoman came over and offered me a lucrative opportunity to write a poem for her cousin's wedding. As a man who has to eat, I went with her! Besides, Geralt said he was leaving first thing the next morning to meet Yennefer at some mine in the region. He needed sleep; I needed coin. I made an agreement with the lady to meet her the next day. I wrote a perfectly respectable sonnet and by the time I was back, Geralt was long gone. Well, until I found him on the road late yesterday. And, I will note, he was already in an argument with this one when I found him!" He points a finger at Yennefer.

Geralt's wheezing by that point slumped over and gripping the bed. "Out, both of you," Pema says, shooing them to the door. "And you," she says, pointing to Yennefer. "Keep an eye on Buttercup." She slams the door.

Jaskier grabs Yennefer's sleeve. "W-what just happened?"

Yennefer blinks slowly at him. "You—you still haven't gotten it, have you?"

"Gotten what?" Jaskier cries, looking frantically between the closed door and the witch. "What was there to get? Also, why did she call me Buttercup?"

Yennefer pinches at the bridge of her nose, drawing in one long breath before letting it back out. Jaskier wishes she'd hurry up and explain before he internally combusts. Seeing Geralt like that was twisting him all up in knots that he didn't think he'd ever find his way out of. He wanted to cry and be sick in a darkened, lonely corner.

He notices she's muttering to herself. "Do be a dear and speak up. Not all of us have the hearing of a wolf."

"All right, I'm well aware that you're not particularly versed in botany,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But I'd hoped you were at least observant enough to pick up on a giant fucking hint."

"Please, please don't ridicule me, Yen." Jaskier leans against the door, weary piling on top of worry. "Now is not the time."

"Fine. Elementary approach it is," Yennefer groans with exasperation. "Hellebore is part of the same family of flowers as the Ranunculus."

"Ranuncu-wha?" Jaskier feels his tongue tripping over the syllables.

Waving one hand through the air with a flourish, Yennefer conjures what looks to be a small flower with five bright yellow petals. Jaskier feels his jaw slackening as he looks at the flower. As he hears Pema's questions and Geralt's answers in his ears once more. He's thankful for the door keeping him upright because the wobble in his knees warns that standing at that moment wouldn't be possible.

"Ranunculus," she says again. "Also known as buttercups."

Jaskier puts a finger to his chest. "And-and my name..."

Yenner nods slowly. "Also means buttercup. Though at this rate molasses would be more apt."

Head spinning, he asks, "Did.... did you and Geralt actually have plans to meet at the mine?"

"I have no idea what mine you're talking about," Yennefer says. "I’ve never planned to meet Geralt anywhere in my life, either. He just appears, regardless of convenience."

Jaskier clutches his chest. "I-I blew off Geralt to write some trite drivel about strangers and it... it... no, no, not possible. Don't do this to me. Even if Geralt loved me, and that's a big if, he couldn't possibly think I don't reciprocate!"

Yennefer smirks. "You roam the continent exploiting his heroics for your songs. What happens when he fails? When he falls ill? If he’s lucky enough to grow old? Your coin and your favor with women dry up. Is it so far-fetched to think that you'd abandon him after that?"

"I'd never!" Jaskier exclaims. "You have no idea what you're talking about, you have no idea how I feel about him!"

"That he's someone so far above you and unattainable that it took you this long to even consider that he has feelings for you? That you'd delude yourself to the point he'd make himself this ill?"

Jaskier is about to be sick. Instead, he bangs on the door and shouts. "Geralt! Geralt, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! You have Hanahaki disease!"

His feet never were as faithful companions as the rest of him. They only prove his point by failing when the door gives under his force. He stumbles in, his lower body several beats behind his upper. Jaskier only manages to right himself just enough to land him on his knees next to where Geralt sits on the bed.

"You ha-haaaah—Hanaaa—" He's panting like he ran up a mountain at full tilt. "Hanahaki."

Geralt has the bucket again and purple petals cling to his lips along with strands of hair. He's even more disheveled than when they left him; a feat seemingly impossible for someone who kills monsters for a living. All color drains from Jaskier's face.

"So I've been informed," Geralt breathes in a barely-there voice.

Jaskier's full-on sobbing. Snot, tears, the whole works make an appearance on his face. "I'm so, so sorry."

Reaching out, his fingers brush against Geralt's along the side of the bucket. The Witcher shudders and he pulls back as if burned. Never in a thousand lifetimes would he have guessed he was the cause. Never would he have wanted to be. He'd rather garrote himself with his own lute strings first.

"If you're sorry, then how about you help me identify who is responsible for this." Geralt's voice is a bit stronger but still retains the quality of broken glass.

The shaking in Jaskier's shoulders stops abruptly and he looks up at Geralt through a veil of tears and confusion.

"Hang on, what?"

Geralt musters as much of a glare as he can. "There are countless ways to drown someone from the inside out."

Carefully, Pema adds, "Geralt reckons that noblewoman sent over a tainted drink that night to get rid of him."

"What's the whore's name?" Geralt asks as he sets the bucket aside. He tries to push himself to his feet but stumbles. Jaskier jumps to grab him and, with barely a push, sits him back down."Get off," he tries, and fails, to growl.

Jaskier shakes his head and grabs Geralt's face in his hands. Geralt is drenched in sweat and spit. Smears of purple mingle with white hair clinging to his face. Yellow eyes, bloodshot. The last time Jaskier had felt so shattered, he thought Geralt was dead.

"Please, listen to me," Jaskier says, on the verge of tears yet again. "I am hopelessly in love with you. Hopeless, because even if you stopped fighting monsters and saving people this very instant, I could never hope to give to you everything you deserve. The love, the care, the service — the only thing I'm good at is strumming strings and spinning tales. The only things I have ever felt that I can give you is someone to amuse you from time to time and a reputation that will inspire hope long after you're gone. And I pray to anyone that will listen that I'm already rotted when that time comes."

Geralt is staring at him wildly now. Jaskier doesn't know if he's the one that's shaking or if it's Geralt. Geralt opens his mouth, but no words come out, so Jaskier gives him more. "I never dreamed of how unfair I had been. I never imagined... If I were given the chance to even begin to show you how I felt about you, I'd fall flat. I'd fail you and I would be utterly, completely ruined."

Geralt tries again and, still, only a litany of silence passes his lips. For a man who typically treats words like a limited resource, Jaskier wonders if Geralt's run out of them at last. If words were a transferable thing, Jaskier would gladly share his excess if only to hear the thoughts he could see swimming behind Geralt's eyes. If he didn't look so frail, he'd even entertain shaking the words out of him.

He doesn't get the chance, however, as Pema nudges him aside, a bottle of familiar pink liquid in her hand. Geralt looks tired beyond his unfathomable years when he takes it from her to drink. This time, he's able to down the entire thing. His free hand tightens around the bucket resting on his thigh.

But, short of a couple of dry coughs, nothing happens.

"Well then. You're all sorted," Pema says, swiftly collecting the bucket and bottle from the bemused Witcher. "Almost. I dare say you two need a moment." She gives Jaskier a pointed look. "Keep it brief, bard. You have until I return from rinsing these out."

He's worried that his confession has somehow rendered Geralt mute, but his fears are dismissed the minute Pema leaves.

"I don't understand."

Jaskier frowns and considers an alternate angle of approach. "What exactly did she tell you about your condition?"

"That it was caused by feelings of unrequited love, either real or perceived."

Jaskier is thrilled to hear Geralt's voice return to it's normal low rumble. He's also stupefied by the fact that the Witcher’s mind would immediately go for the worst-case scenario. Then again, it shouldn't be that much of a shock. It probably would be more so if he hadn’t.

"So, you just immediately assumed someone bewitched you into loving them without your consent?"

Geralt sighs. "I'm aware of the general sentiment most people hold toward me. Hoping for anything more than that wouldn't make sense."

Jaskier puts his hands back on Geralt's face and a smile that is all at once pained, relieved, and pitying.

"How on earth did I manage to fall for the likes of such an incomparable, incurable idiot?"

And—sweat, spit, and petals be damned—he presses forward to meet Geralt's lips with his own.

"This is medical waste, witch!" The sound of Pema yelling from outside interrupts them.

"Waste? It's a medical miracle! It came from a Witcher. Name your price."

Geralt's brow furrows when he pulls away. Tentatively, Jaskier says, "She has been collecting the petals for some sort of mysterious research. I did not endorse this, just to be clear."

Geralt sighs through a hint of a smile. "Exhausting, both of you." Then, he leans forward, resting his head on Jaskier's shoulder.

Jaskier puts a hand on the back of Geralt's head and presses his lips to the top. "Gods forbid you ever grow bored."


End file.
